Bennet laughed softly. “What did she say?”
“That she wouldn’t make my favorite kidney pie.” He grimaced as if she’d actually threatened bodily harm. “Come, to the back of the stable, where your coach was parked.”
Was.
“Well, I suppose it’s still parked there,” Logan said with another grimace.
Bennet followed him. “I confess I came in to see it yesterday. It’s as you said.” Irreparable.
“I feel as if it’s my fault.” Logan shook his head. “It was in my stable.”
“That’s nonsense.” Bennet stared at the wreckage where the roof had caved onto the coach, squashing it. “I’m sorry your stable was so badly damaged—none of us escaped the wrath of the storm, it seems.”
“What will you do without a coach?” Logan asked.
“Not elope.” Bennet smiled then noted the distress in Logan’s features. “It’s all right. Lady Prudence and I have discussed it. She’ll return to London as soon as possible. Ah, her family knows we planned to wed. I will try to get a special license instead.” He’d need to tell Prudence about these lies.
“I’m so sorry your plans were ruined. Aren’t you going to return to London with her?”
Hell, he should. A young lady oughtn’t be traveling about on her own. “It depends on the transport we arrange.”
Furthermore, Bennet had begun to wonder if he should go to Aberforth Place instead of London. He might do better trying to find an heiress in Bath. London would likely be rife with the gossip of his destitution. But he’d be more likely to find a bride in London. It was a bloody conundrum.
“I’ll see what I can do,” Logan said with determination. “I promise we’ll get her ladyship back to London as soon as possible. I don’t know if the road will be better by tomorrow, but certainly Wednesday, provided the rain stays away.”
“I appreciate your support,” Bennet said. “Now, I’ve distracted you long enough from your work. How can I help?”
After a few hours of grueling work, Bennet went inside with the others. As with yesterday, Mrs. Logan insisted he take his meal in the common room with Prudence. He sank into the chair as yesterday’s exhaustion coupled with today’s efforts weighed him down.
“You look rather spent,” Prudence commented as she poured him some tea.
“I’m all right.” He picked up the cup, eager for the warmth of the brew. “Thank you.”
“Did you make this bread?” he asked as he picked up a slice from the plate in the middle of the table.
“I did. It’s good to know I can probably find work as a housekeeper if I’m unable to be a companion anymore.”
He flinched. “Don’t say that. Of course you’ll be able to be a companion.”
“I hope so. I plan to go directly to Lord Lucien’s when I get to London. I assume I will no longer be needed as Lady Cassandra’s companion. Hopefully he can find something else for me.”
“What do you plan to tell him?”
“That I eloped and then changed my mind. It’s simple and the only thing that makes sense given the note you wrote.”
Bennet exhaled, setting his cup down. “Why you are so friendly to me after that idiocy will forever remain a mystery.”
“You made a mistake. Haven’t we all done that?”
“A mistake is forgetting to thank your hostess or dropping a glass of champagne in the middle of a ballroom. This was a catastrophe.” He cocked his head. “Are you thinking of a particular mistake of your own?” Was that why she’d forgiven him? Had she done something for which she’d wanted to be forgiven?
“No.” Had she answered too quickly? “I just think our time in this life is too short to worry over things we can’t change. Better to make the best of it and get on.”
He couldn’t argue with that even if he struggled to do it himself. It was hard to make the best of something that hung over your head like an executioner’s axe.
They ate their stew, and Bennet was grateful for her quiet company.
“Are you anxious to get back to your life?” she asked. “This is a far cry from what you enjoy as a gentleman—no parties, no boxing, no whatever else you do to fill your time that isn’t this.”
“I suppose.” He said that because he thought he should. “Actually, I don’t miss it. Trying to find a wife and meet my obligations is incredibly vexing. These days in the country—with you—have been a welcome respite.”
She fixed her attention on her stew and fell silent for a moment. When she looked back to him, there was a determined fire in her gaze. “You must sleep in the bed tonight. I should have insisted last night. You were exhausted, and you’re working much harder than you’re used to.”
“I am not sharing your bed. You were quite clear on that point,” he said wryly.
“I’ve changed my mind. I won’t accept your refusal. I’ll roll up one of the blankets from your pallet and put it between us.”
A barrier was smart, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep knowing she was within arm’s reach. He wanted her, damn his eyes. What if he did something untoward while he was sleeping?
“I can see you’re concerned, but I trust you.”
“I don’t know why.” He didn’t deserve her kindness or trust. He finished his stew and stood abruptly. “I should get back to the stable.”
She got up and moved to him. Then she took his hand, and he felt hot and cold at the same time while his heart thundered in his chest. “Stop berating yourself. You’re sleeping in the bed. It will be fine.”
She held his gaze, her hand warm around his. He wanted so badly to pull her closer, to kiss her forehead, to stroke her cheek.
But then she did the most astounding thing. She kissed him. Soft and fleeting, her lips brushed over his.
Without thinking, he grasped her waist. He bent his head, intending to kiss her again, his pulse thrumming with excitement, his body trembling with want.
He hesitated, searching her face.
“Yes,” she whispered, placing her hand on his chest.
How he wanted her.
“No.” He pulled away and turned on his heel, escaping to the kitchen where he’d left his hat. He wouldn’t sully her more than he already had.
Inviting Bennet to share the bed had seemed a good idea—the right thing to do given how hard he’d been working. But now, in the dark of night, with him breathing so close beside her, Prudence doubted the wisdom of her actions.
At least there was the blanket between them.
Was she worried that she’d snuggle against him? Ask him for the kiss he’d denied her earlier? Kiss him again?
No, she wouldn’t disturb him. He needed his sleep after the hard work of the past two days. Never mind the scandal of it.
Scandal, really?
Prudence smiled into the darkness. She’d spent five days at an inn with a man who wasn’t her husband. He wasn’t even her betrothed. And she’d been masquerading as a lady.
Everything that had happened here would, out of necessity, remain secret. She’d never tell anyone, not Cassandra, not Fiona, not even her closest friend, Ada, where she’d been or what she’d been doing. So what did it matter if she kissed him again?